T H A T L I E S W I T H I N . . .

 Overstretched.

Wretched. 

Words

Overthought

And so misunderstood.

Stuttering.

 Teetering. 

Lost on the edge

Such fragile existence.

Stumbling hard,

Flailing grasp yields empty palms.

Weighted fibres of a rational life looped tight

Recoiling

Recalcitrant 

Retreating muscle memory 

An empty, aching void that creeps and grows

Neurons misfire.

Smatterings of light brilliance 

Bleeding out.

Hold on to hope,

Cling helplessly to hopelessness.

Flickering fervently;

Feebly fade.

A weakening pulse 
Of the Us we'd made. 

Clambering across this, 

The clumsy mechanics; 

My mind.
A well oiled machine no more.

Digging deep,

Searching for something;

Sound or sight. 

Seeking sensibility 

But instead 
Slowly spiralling;

An unravelling thread of Me,

Slowly turning, 
a

Repeated, rhythmical revolution.

I want to come back;

Yearn to see the crack of light

Of Yesterday's You and Me. 

Safe and buoyant.

Smiling - Dancing - Carefree.

Synchronistic in our own reverie. 

Try as I might

Every painful, 

Painstaking shift

No matter how slight, 

Nudges me closer to There,
The place

That breathes away my light.

Want your hands.

Please
Reach out.

Touch my pallid skin.

Hold me hard,

Pull me in

Save me from my

Dark drowning 

Injected inkiness

That lies within.